Love Infernal
by Dr. Shibui
Summary: Ch. 5 is up! Armageddon has been cancelled...but if thats so why are strange things still happening in Lower Tadfield. Not only must Aziraphale and Crowley dodge the forces of Heaven and Hell...but also a lovesick Antichrist?
1. Chapter 1

**Hello people! **_**Good Omens **_**is one of my favorite books and I felt it was one of those stories that just begs for a sequel, an all too rare occurrence in this day and age where people have a tendency to beat an idea to death instead of just allowing it to die with dignity. Anyway here is what I think such a sequel would look like, so kick back, relax and let the hijinx that come with the End of the World commence...**

**I don't own **_**Good Omens **_**and all characters therein (except the ones I've incorporated) belong to those two mad geniuses Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchet.**

Prologue

_Roughly two years after the (supposed) Cancellation of Armageddon..._

It was just another day down in the Pit (not the ancient chalk quarry that a certain group of children from Lower Tadfield frequented in their youth; the real one). Damned souls wailing and gnashing their teeth, imps going about their torments, the head infernal architect designing the Nixon suit in the Eighth Circle in preparation for the former president's arrival, _Michael Bolton's Greatest Hits _playing incessantly over the PA system for all eternity (1). Just the daily grind for the denizens of the underworld. At least that's how it started for one such gremlin named Harry when he woke up that day. He bathed, shaved and stopped to pick up a pastry at the local Starbucks (2) on the way to the Outer Ring of the Seventh Circle where he was scheduled to attend to the torments of a certain Iraqi dictator (3), when he noticed something amiss. Something improbable. Something that simply did _not_ happen down there.

After a moment of indecision, he scurried off to the City of Dis and sought out Duke Hastur, who was in the middle of his lurking exercises with Duke Ligur (4). Naturally they were annoyed at being interrupted and, as is customary amongst demons, threatened bodily harm, torture, mutilation, dismemberment and a few things that should never be mentioned _ever_, upon Harry's person before he explained his reasons for coming.

Their anger replaced with concern and a growing sense of dread, they investigated Harry's claims and after a brief deliberation they went to Pandemonium Tower - the 145th floor to be precise - where Prince Beelzebub's office was located. As the Morning Star's right hand man he was very busy, and still a little angry at the two Dukes of Hell whom he held at least partly responsible for the fiasco that transpired two years ago.

"I don't havzze time for thizz," the Lord of the Flies buzzed testily as he signed a contract Mephistopheles had sent him in triplicate concerning the immortal soul of one Tiger Woods (5). "Szzztate thine biszznesszzzz and bugger offzz."

"W-well your L-lordship," began Ligur tenuously, before Hastur cut in, "It's the Lake of Fire sir."

Beelzebub disinterestedly thumbed through the file sent to him by his agents in the National Republican Convention (6). "Whatzz of itzz?"

"It's...well...that is to say it's...er..." Hastur stumbled awkwardly through the almost-sentence, and Ligur, sensing Beelzebub's growing impatience, finished quickly, "It's frozen sir."

"_Zzzz?!_" buzzed Beelzebub, standing up form his desk so suddenly that he spilled coffee all over Lindsey Lohan's documents. Taking no notice of this, he rushed to the window, from which he had a fairly decent view of the dreary expanse of the Underworld. Where a roiling, boiling lake of lava usually was there was instead a lake of ice, which imps and demons of all ages were gleefully skating upon.

Beelzebub blessed so virtuously that he won a collected gasp from both Hastur and Ligur. People joked about Hell freezing over so often they don't realize the gravity of such an occurrence. Ice of any kind appearing in Hell typically coincided with a remarkable, significant event occurring on Earth (7). He had to notify the Great Lord about this...

- - -

The Great Lord took the news better than expected. Much better in fact. He had been in ill humor since the confrontation with his spawn two years ago and his subordinates suffured his discontent. Now, however, from the deepest chasms of cold Cocytus to the highest battlements of gloomy Gate of Hell, Satan's triumphant laughter echoed throughout his dark empire...

- - -

Meanwhile, about a quantum leap or so away, the denizens of Paradise were dealing with a similar crisis, albeit not as spectacular as a frozen lake of lava...

"What do you _mean_ all the vending machines are out of Cherry Cola?" demanded a rather upset new arrival. "This is heaven for Go-... Pete-... hea-...oh you get the idea!"

Several cries of agreement echoed through the alabaster halls of the Holy Commissary of the Heavenly Kingdom. One panicked cherub rushed to inform Gabriel of the unprecedented predicament (8). Gabriel in turn went to his superior Michael with the news. Michael, the commander of the heavenly host, took this information to the Metatron.

"_Out_ of _Cherry Cola?_" demanded the Voice of God incredulously.

"I know it sounds daft, Excellency," said Michael cautiously, but the fact is we've received numerous complaints regarding the...er...provisions."

"But this is heaven! _Heaven!_" insisted the golden seraph. "We shouldn't be able to run out of _anything!_"

"I'm afraid the vending machines say otherwise," said Michael calmly.

The Metatron looked as though he was about to argue but then decided against it with a resigned sigh. There was no help for it. He was going to have to commune with Him.

- - -

As usual with his meetings with the ineffable one, Metatron walked away feeling bewildered, disheveled and more than a little disoriented (9). The Almighty Creator of Heaven, Earth and Stuff In General, watched the Voice leave smiling, as He always did, like he knew a good joke but had no intention of telling anyone the punch line just yet...

- - -

Meanwhile at the Ritz, an inebriated young man in a sweater-vest was staving off unconsciousness by attempting to explain to the equally inebriated fellow with sunglasses something concerning ineffability versus free will when a sudden shockwave of supernatural vibration jolted the both of them into sobriety. They sat blinking at one another for a few moments then slowly turned toward the general direction of Tadfield.

"Oh," sighed Aziraphale. "Dear!"

Crowley blessed colorfully under his breath.

- - -

Newton "Newt" Pulsifer had no psychic abilities, nor any concrete connection to the supernatural realms to speak of. He was currently attempting to write a revamped, bold, new Witchfinder's Handbook for the next generation of Finders. His old sergeant, Shadwell, would likely have had his head for even suggesting such a "southern nancy-boy" idea, but the lovable old bigot was retired now, living with "the painted Jezebel" and deliriously happy - or at least as close to happy as he could get - and had left Newt to carry on the WA's never-ending crusade against the forces of darkness, so it was really his call now.

He had figured that the first order of business was to gather new recruits. He had rented a small office in town put up a sign and everything. Shockingly, not only has anyone signed up, some vandals had spray painted a very rude word indeed upon his office window. He had decided to reach out through the medium of the written word and set to work on the new Handbook. Of course, with the way technology behaved around him, he was forced to resort to writing the entire Handbook by...well...hand, a lengthy process he expected to finish in two to three years.

He gazed fondly at the very attractive shape of his sleeping girlfriend, the sheets pulled around her so that they accented her curves perfectly, and the ceiling plaster still in her hair from their latest lovemaking session, the as of yet unopened _Further Nife and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter Concerning the World that Is To Com;Ye Saga Continuef! _to her chest (10). Anathema Device slept soundly, the only sign of her sensing a proverbial disturbance in the even more proverbial Force, was a soft moan in her sleep as she rolled over on her side, parted her lips and drooled on her pillow. She was the most beautiful woman Newt had ever seen.

- - -

MR. COLLINS, said the scythe-bearing figure in black robes, beckoning to the terrified soul. YOUR TIME HAS COME.

"B-but...but..." protested the deceased Mr. Collins lamely.

REALLY NOW, sighed Death. YOU SHOULD HAVE LISTENED TO THAT DOCTOR OF YOURS. YOU CAN'T EAT FAST FOOD FOR BREAKFAST LUNCH AND DINNER AND NOT EXPECT TO HAVE A CORONARY. IF YOU'D HAD THAT SALAD YESTERDAY YOU PROBABLY WOULDN'T HAVE HAD YOUR HEART ATTACK IN YOUR CAR FROM EATING THESE HASHBROWNS.

Death pensively reached through the shattered window of the Ford Explorer crashed into the street light, gently nudged Mr. Collins' limp corpse away from the shattered windshield that cut up his face during the impact, away from the steering wheel that fractured his skull, and back into his seat, one hand still clutching his chest, the other still clutching the pack of hashbrowns he had purchased not two minutes ago from Burger King on his way to work. Death plucked a hashbrown from the corpse and popped it into his mouth.

MMM, he said. THESE ARE QUITE GOOD. I CAN SEE WHY YOU ATE 15,678,374,089½ OF THEM THROUGH THE COURSE OF YOUR BRIEF LIFE. DO YOU MIND?

Mr. Collins only stared at Death dumbfounded, which the cosmic being, of course, took for an affirmative. He devoured the rest of the hashbrowns as he led the disoriented soul to his final reward.

MMM, Death repeated. WELL IT'S NOT LIKE I NEED TO WATCH _MY_ FIGURE (11).

He paused for a moment to note that something strange was happening in Lower Tadfield - something that hasn't happened in two years - and absently wondered if the other Horsepersons were stirring to new life within their prisons in the minds of the human populace. He shrugged and went on his way.

Unlike _some_ people he had a job to do...

- - -

Somewhere in Lower Tadfield, flying pigs played Cricket.

Somewhere in Lower Tadfield, the stars bloomed into flowers.

Somewhere in Lower Tadfield, a mermaid bubbled up from the pond, looked about hopefully for a moment or two, then splashed back down below in disappointment.

Somewhere in Lower Tadfield, Dog made love to the pant leg of a very upset R.P. Tyler, who resolved to write a very vehement letter to the Tadfield Advertiser concerning the case for having such animals neutered.

Somewhere in Lower Tadfield, two sets of hands touched; two sets of eyes sparkled; two sets of trembling lips met. And Adam Young and Pippin Galadriel Moonchild - Pepper to her friends and everyone who was not her mother who wanted to stay on her good side - ventured together into unknown territory...(12)

**Love Infernal**

A Narrative of Certain Events concerning the new world and humanity's place in it in strict accordance as shall be shown with:

_Further Nife and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter Concerning the World that Is To Com; Ye Saga Continuef!_

Compiled and edited with Footnotes of an Educational Nature and Precepts for the Wise by Neil Gaiman (kidding!) Terry Pratchett (gotcha again!) and Dr. Shibui (for real!)

**Dramatis Personae**

**Superntural Beings**

God (God)

Metatron (The Voice of God)

Peter (Keeper of the Keys)

Michael (Archangel; Heaven's General)

Gabriel (Likewise archangel; Michael's Second-in-Command)

Aziraphale (Angel/part-time rare book dealer/Antichrist handler)

Satan (Fallen Angel; the Adversary)

Beelzebub (Likewise Fallen Angel and Prince of Hell)

Hastur (Duke of Hell and self-proclaimed arch-nemesis of Crowley)

Ligur (restored Duke of Hell and likewise self-proclaimed arch-nemesis of Crowley)

Crowley (Serpent/Bentley enthusiast/Antichrist handler)

Babs (Babylonian harlot/Homecoming queen)

Nicolas Scratch (False Prophet/network executive/substitute teacher)

Judas the Betrayer (damned soul/would-be assassin/aspiring karaoke star)

Jay (Jesus Christ/Messiah/folk singer)

**Anthropomorphic Personifications of Cosmic Abstractions**

DEATH (Death)

War (War)

Famine (Famine)

Pollution (Pollution)

**Humans**

Newton Pulsifer (Semi-retired Witchfinder/techno-jinx/boyfriend)

Anathema Device (Practical occultist/ex-prophecy interpreter/girlfriend)

Greasy Johnson (Leader of the Johnsonites/sometimes bully/aspiring poet)

Mr. Young (Father)

Mrs. Young (Mother)

R.P. Tyler (Chairman of the Residents's Association/neighborhood blowhard)

Buganhagen (Keeper of the Dagger/souvenir shop proprietor)

**The Them**

Brian (teenage boy/WA Intern)

Wensleydale (teenage boy/WA Intern)

Pepper (teenage girl/activist/love interest)

Adam (reluctant Antichrist/teenager)

**Other**

Elvis Presley, a kraken, Santa Claus, unicorns, UFO's, Americans, and a veritable plethora of other strange and rare creatures of the End Times plus one _really_ angry tourist

**And:**

Dog (Satanic hellhound/Defiler of Pant Legs/Soiler of Lawns/Menace to Felines)

1.) What did you expect? This is _Hell_ we're talking about!

2.) I'm telling you, those things are _everywhere!_

3.) Basically, they tie him to a chair, prop his eyelids open, and force him to watch a never-ending marathon of _The View_.

4.) After Crowley had dissolved Ligur with holy water, the Duke was reduced to a harmless spirit and there were really only two places a disembodied spirit could go, so he eventually wound up back in Hell. Though unable to inflict any physical harm on anyone, the force of his will was strong enough to "persuade" the geeks down in R&D to construct him a new body. Even so it was not a dignified thing for such a high ranking demon to go through and he remains a malignant and vindictive S.O.B. who, alongside Hastur, plots Crowley's downfall.

5.) You didn't seriously think anyone was _that_ good did you?

6.) If it makes you feel any better, he has agents amongst the Democrats as well. Hell - much like Heaven - likes to play both sides of the field.

7.) The last such event took place in 1994 when the Eagles reunited, fourteen years after the band's initial break up. Ironically, Don Henley was quoted in 1980 saying that the band would play together again "when Hell freezes over". Whether or not this utterance had any bearing on the cosmic event that actually took place in Hell during their album promotion more than a decade later has yet to be ascertained. Even so, Hell's Department of Public Safety urges you to use discretion when throwing that phrase around.

8.) Heaven is...well, it's _Heaven! _As such, people who live there have a tendency to be more than a little spoilt and crises there aren't so much catastrophic so much as annoying. If you don't believe me, imagine living in Wakiki Hawaii for three years and then be transferred to Nome Alaska in the dead of winter and see how jubilant _you _are.

9.) God has that effect on people, hence the necessity for a Metatron, though it is more so an over-glorified ceremonial position which, sadly, had long ago gone to the seraph's head.

10.) Newt had convinced her not to open it so that she'd be free to live her life according to her own will, and while she has thus far resisted the urge to open the thing she couldn't bring herself to throw it away, fearing something dreadful might befall her.

11.) He really doesn't

12.) The Antichrist + hormones _WE'RE ALL GONNA DIE!_

**So, what do you think? Hit or Miss? Same rules apply, review or I'll just leave this story to rot. Also, if anyone out there has a decent knowledge of British expressions could you help me out? As an American, the only ones I really know and have any semblance of understanding for are: **_**cheerio, jolly good, egad, gadzooks, I say,**_** and **_**bloody 'ell**_**. Any contribution would be greatly appreciated. 'Til next time! Shibui out!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Ask and thou shalt receive! I think that's in the Bible somewhere. Anywho, shoutouts go to Angel of the Apocalypse, FlameDiadem, Ajac, Spirochick39, Talon88.1, and ruff1298. Read and enjoy!**

The Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is called Dragon, Prince of This World, Father of Lies, Spawn of Satan, and Lord of Darkness, commonly going by the name Adam, wondered vaguely how exactly his face became attached to that of his friend-who-happens-to-be-a-girl Pepper. Not that he minded of course. It was rather... nice. An understatement of course - it felt _great!_

But while eight out of the ten percent of grey matter he had any kind of conscious control over was focused on kissing the pretty red head sitting with him on his bed, one and a half percent was worrying over what he would do if one of his parents decided to come upstairs to check on them and walked in to find them sucking face (1), the remaining half percent recounted the series of events that led up to this (2).

Pepper showed up at the door, naturally coming to see Adam. Mrs. Young, though she didn't care much for "that Hippie woman's love child", she nevertheless did not wish to seem an ungracious hostess and invited her to stay for dinner. Through the meal, Mrs. Young was a study of sullen disapproval, Mr. Young obliviously partook of his grilled chicken with steamed beets as he read the paper, trying to ignore the incessant chatter of the two thirteen-year-olds who acted as though the two adults weren't with them in the dining room.

Once supper was finished, Adam and Pepper bounded up the stairs to his room, followed by Mrs. Young's not-too-subtle reminder to keep his door open.

There they spent a couple of hours playing video games, flipping through the latest issue of _New Aquarian Digest_, goofing around with some of his old Star Wars X-Wing models, and talking. It was the talking, really, that took up the most of those couple of hours.

Adam found it easy to talk to any one of the Them. Wensleydale was great for riffing on cheezy sci-fi movies and helping him with math homework, though the fair-haired bespectacled boy often left him scratching his head when he went on about electromagnetism, relativity, and thermodynamics and statistical mechanics. And Brian was always up for a resounding game of _Brain-chomping Zombies VI: the Undead Want Your Head! _or for tearing up the local paintball field.

But Pepper was different. Not only could he talk to her about the mechanics of the universe in a manner he could comprehend while at the same time dodging her paintball projectiles, they could spend hours and hours talking - just talking. It didn't have to be about anything specific just so long as they prolonged the conversation. That was why he liked hanging out with her so much.

At some point, they stopped talking. He still wasn't sure what caused them to cease what had been proving to be a record breaking conversation but an awkward silence pervaded over the room, and both Adam and Pepper seated together on his bed, felt themselves becoming more and more uncomfortable.

Finally, just when Adam couldn't stand it anymore, Pepper suddenly blurted, "Do you want to try kissing?"

Adam fell off the bed and landed on the floor with a loud THUNK!

"What was that?" called Mrs. Young.

"Nothin' Mum," answered Adam, staring at Pepper as though seeing her for the first time.

"I don't want any hanky-panky going on up there." Pepper smothered a snort.

"We're not doin' anything!" cried Adam indignantly.

"Hmph!" was his mother's curt reply.

After a silence Pepper, prompted with a bemused eyebrow, "Hanky-panky?"

Adam brushed off the query and redirected the conversation as he climbed b ack onto the bed, "You want to try _kissing?_"

Pepper's face flushed to a shade that almost matched her hair and she looked at the floor shyly. "Well," she began, and her words began to tumble from her lips faster and faster as she grew more and more flustered. "It's just that we're teenagers now and that's just what teenagers do, right? I'm mean, it's not like I'm suggesting you and me go steady, or some equally primitive variation of the sort! I just think we should try it just once and get that whole 'first kiss' rubbish out of the way! And I like you and you like me - right? - so if it turns out this kissing thing is a load of tripe no harm done! Right? Right? I mean, people make such a big deal out of so little it just seems to me that - that is - what I'm trying to say - see where I'm going with this is - _stop smiling!_"

"I can't help it," chuckled Adam which only made Pepper glare and flush previously undiscovered shade of red. He wisely decided not to mention that he thought she was cute when she got all flustered.

"If..." he hesitated then cleared his throat, feeling his face heat up. "If you really want to try kissing...that is...I have no problem...if you don't."

She watched uncertainly as he scooted closer to her on the bed. Then they took one another's hands into their own. They stared at one another, unsure of what to do next. Pepper gazed into his dazzling blue eyes while Adam counted the freckles on her cheeks. Finally he leaned forward a little. Then she leaned in a little. At this point their foreheads were almost touching. After a few more moments of staring into one another's eyes, Adam finally lifted his chin, prompting Pepper to do the same, and at last their lips touched...

- - -

"Ohshitohshitohshitohshitohshitohshitohshitohshit!"

Crowley repeated this mantra as the Bentley tore through the street, unheeding of red lights, pedestrians, and the occasional police barricade, making a beeline for Lower Tadfield.

Aziraphale sat in the passenger seat, silent and contemplative. There was none of his usual scolding about traffic law, right-of-way, or even safety protocol (3). Finally he looked toward the tense demonic driver and said, "Are we doing the right thing here?"

"Is this going to be one of those 'ineffable plan' conversations?" asked Crowley tartly, as he plowed through yet another busy intersection, leaving a ten car pile-up in his wake. "Because I am _so_ not in the mood right now!"

Aziraphale sighed and miracled away the accident leaving several very confused drivers, a convoy of very, very angry cops in pursuit of the "kamikaze Bentley", and one very, very, _very_ disappointed ambulance chasing lawyer.

"It's just that," continued the angel. "Are we certain that our going to see the boy will make any difference at this point? I mean, I know it's our job and everything-"

"No," grunted Crowley, jerking his steering wheel, and narrowly missing an elderly pedestrian. "It's exile dressed up as an assignment! It's our punishment. Don't get me wrong, it's worked out quite well for me so far. I get to hang out on Earth, stir up a little mischief here and there, get dead stinking drunk every night, wake up three days later with a bloody hangover and do it all over again and the best part is, the boss never calls (4)."

"But that's just it," insisted the angel. "No one has told us anything! We're delving into uncharted territory with this boy. There hasn't been anyone like him since the Son."

"You mean that kid from Nazarath?"

"No, I'm talking about the 1990s Canadian rock band, of course the kid from Nazarath!"

"Why Aziraphale!" gasped Crowley with delight. "I do believe that was sarcasm!"

"Oh dear," blushed the angel. "I'm terribly sorry!"

"Don't be," smirked the demon. "I've never been more proud of you."

"It's just that," continued Aziraphale, brushing the comment aside. "The situation has me very-upset? Disappointed? Frightened? No word in any language terrestrial, divine, or infernal seems adequate to properly portray what I'm feeling right now!"

"I know," sighed Crowley sympathetically.

"We stopped it," said Aziraphale. "It was the End and we stopped it."

"I know," repeated Crowley.

"We stopped it and it's happening again anyway."

"_I know!_" roared the demon, swerving just in time to avoid running down a blind man walking along the crosswalk. Aziraphale, in a knee jerk reaction, accidently cured his blindness as they shot by and the man jubilantly threw aside his cane, and skipped all the way home.

They drove in silence for a bit before Aziraphale prompted, "Perhaps we're over-reacting a bit. The boy seemed a sensible and friendly chap. I doubt he's abusing his powers in the way his father intended. He's probably got a good explanation for all the strange goings on."

"Sure," agreed Crowley snidely. "And maybe flying pigs'll play crochet."

They turned at the sound of oinking and squealing and saw a flying pig holding a cricket bat, peering curiously at them through the passenger-seat window for a moment or two before flying off.

They stared at the space the pig occupied in mute amazement before Aziraphale turned a cheeky smile toward his companion.

"That doesn't count," grumbled the demon sourly. "It's clearly playing cricket."

- - -

Pepper didn't know how long she and Adam were like that, but when they finally pulled away gasping for air (5), she stared at Adam - what's the word? Demurely? She was _not_ demure! Not for a day in her life!

"W-well," she said unsteadily.

"Well," returned Adam.

"I-I don't see what the big deal is," she said at last, lifting her chin challengingly, defying him to contradict her.

"Absolutely," agreed Adam a bit too quickly for her liking.

"At least we got it out of the way," said Pepper resolutely, glaring at Adam meaningfully. "Because it's. Never. Happening. Again."

"Right," said Adam calmly. Pepper was a bit taken aback by this.

"Ever." she added.

"Right," repeated Adam.

_What's he bein' go agreeable for anyway? _thought Pepper darkly. _He could at least __**pretend**__ to be disappointed!_

"This isn't a boyfriend/girlfriend cuddly gooey snog-fest sort of thing," the red-head pressed. "Understand?"

"Purely for experimental purposes," nodded the boy. "I got it."

Pepper scrutinized him for a moment more then nodded, "Good."

"Great," said Adam.

"Wonderful."

They sat in silence before Mrs. Young called them downstairs. Eager for an excuse to ignore what just happened they bounded down the stairs and were greeted by R.P. Tyler shouting something about Dog, or "the mangey ill-bred mongrel" as he preferred to call him, having done something unspeakable to his good pants.

- - -

Crowley and Aziraphale stood outside the Young residence watching the spectacle. Tyler not only threatened to write a letter to the _Times_ about the dwindling sense of pet-owner responsibility, parental control, and hormonally-induced teenagers being left unchecked and unsupervised, but also threatened to file a law suite to have Dog leashed and have his "family jewels" chopped off.

Mr. Young tactfully talked his busybody neighbor down and offered to replace his ruined pants and agreed to have Dog leashed (6). Tyler grudgingly walked away and that was that. After a few moments Ms. Moonchild pulled up in her ty-dye van with a peace symbol painted on the doors to pick her daughter up and The Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is called Dragon, Prince of This World, Father of Lies, Spawn of Satan, and Lord of Darkness, answering to the name Adam, watched her go from his bedroom window with an absolutely bewildered look on his face.

"Aww," sighed Aziraphale, hands clasped and eyes sparkling. "How _sweet!_"

"Oh," moaned Crowley. "_Bugger!_"

- - -

Somewhere in the Iraqi desert, a lone girl with sun-browned skin and midnight hair, walked with single-minded determination westward, towards Great Britain. Towards Tadfield, where her destiny awaits. She is the Seductress, the Mistress of Evil, the Trap of Tramps, the Dark Queen of Seven Nations, the Harlot of Babylon, the Consort of the Beast, and her time had finally come.

"Adam Young," she whispered, a wicked smile spreading across her devil-red lips. "You are _mine!_"

1.) He decided that it really would depend on which one of them came up. If it was Mrs. Young, she would likely suffer a panic attack and, after her husband revived her with the smelling salts, she would immediately call Pepper's mother to come pick her daughter up and then would have a long, excruciating chat with her son regarding the dangers of unprotected sex and the virtues of prudence and chastity that would likely leave him disturbed, traumatized, and seriously considering entering into the priesthood. Conversely, if Mr. Young had found them, he would hand Adam a condom, wink, say "That's my boy," and then leave, never to speak of it again.

2.) With all of this simultaneously going on in his head, it's no wonder he took no notice of the strange goings on outside. Although Dog humping Mr. Tyler's leg was becoming a regular occurrence of late.

3.) Usually, when riding in the Bentley, Aziraphale wouldn't allow Crowley to even start the vehicle before he buckled his safety belt. "We're immortal!" Crowley would gripe. "What difference does it make?" The angel would only smile in that self-assured way and respond, "It's the law."

4.) After the Armageddon was cancelled, both sides opted to behave as though nothing had happened. However, the Metatron and Beelzebub knew that Adam Young was far too powerful to go mucking about the mortal realm unchecked, though in light of the boy's (in their opinion) "wishy-washy" outlook, they doubted he would be too much trouble. Still, living by the philosophies of "better safe than sorry," and "the punishment fitting the crime", they assigned Aziraphale and Crowley to watch over Adam, both to satisfy themselves that the Antichrist would be kept under close watch and that the two idiots that messed up the Apocalypse were being disciplined accordingly by being stuck on Earth, isolated from both Heaven and Hell, not realizing that it couldn't have worked out better for either of them had they planned it. Now they can enjoy Earth for as long as they wished and be able to call it work.

5.) It didn't occur to them to breathe through their noses, or at least it didn't to Adam. Pepper for her part was afraid she might accidently snort a booger on his face.

6.) _Not if I have anything to say about it, _thought Dog, thinking of several terrible things he could do to Mr. Young's slippers or Mrs. Young's good carpet if he were forced to endure that horrid instrument of bondage.

**Dun dun duuun! Seems that romance is the farthest thing from either of our young protagonists' minds...or is it? And what has Crowley so worried? Is Dog starting to question his sexuality? And does Babs plan on walking all the way to Tadfield? As always R&R. Shibui out!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hi everybody! I know I've been gone a while but I actually have the excuse of final exams and an overblown family gathering in honor of my kid brother's graduation! Between catching up with relations I've never even met and wrangling my little cousins, I had very little time for the computer. But now they're gone and I've got the house mostly to myself again, I'm back to this story. I should warn you, this chapter is not for the squeamish, things are gonna get greasy! I would also like to apologize in advance to any Muslims in my audience who might take offense to my portrayal of Muslim people. I mean absolutely nothing by it beyond harmless satire and anything that might seem insensitive is simply a result of my ignorance of your culture and I would appreciate any efforts to remedy that. Now that all the legal stuff is out of the way, Shout Outs go to Talon88.1, Lori Gray Skies, ruff1298, Ajac, The Fool's Hope, and FlameDiadem. On with the show!**

"Is this really necessary?" muttered Aziraphael as he and Crowley walked up the stoop after the nauseatingly bubbly blonde realtor.

"It's the best way we can keep an eye on the kid," hissed Crowley as the pink jacket-clad woman gave them a guided tour of the house, doggedly determined to meet her quota and oblivious to their conversation (1). They've been house-hunting all week long and they had patiently waited until they had wrangled a tour of a house near enough to their ward to keep closer watch.

"Won't he notice us?" asked the Angel.

"How do you mean?" asked Crowley.

"Well, the last time we met it felt as though he were staring right through us," said Aziraphael shakily, as the blonde woman prattled on about how the holes in stairs, which looked suspiciously like the handiwork of termites were actually made during the WWII air raids. "Like he could reach inside us, yank out our aura and make balloon animals out of them."

"That's why," answered the demon, as the realtor explained the benefits of the geysering "French" toilet (2). "We can't use our powers for as long as we're here."

"No powers?" repeated Aziraphale.

"No powers," confirmed Crowley as the blonde tried to cover up a gaping hole in the wall that totally wasn't made by the previous owner of the house shooting her unfaithful husband with a .45 gauge shotgun.

"Not even to clean house?" pressed the angel.

"No," answered the demon as the realtor stuck another piece of duct tape to the spluttering water heater.

"Not even to miracle away our hangovers?"

"No."

"Not even to fill the room with a soft glow so it doesn't seem so gloomy?"

Crowley stared at Aziraphale for a moment in disbelief. "Are you afraid of the dark?"

"Don't be ridiculous," snorted the angel, before adding sheepishly, "I just have a healthy respect for it is all."

"I'll mock you about that later," smirked the demon as the blonde thumped a broomstick against the ceiling to frighten off whatever was living in the attic. "But right now we need to focus on what he should do about the kid."

"I still don't see what the emergency is," insisted Aziraphale. "So he's having his first crush. It happens to everybody (3)."

"Adam Young isn't _everybody_," said Crowley soberly. "You know what teenagers are like by themselves right?"

Aziraphale blinked.

"Superficial, self-absorbed, socially inept, and angry at the world," the demon said dryly. "A magical world of fun for the entire family to my understanding."

"I'm certain you're overreacting," said Aziraphale.

"Now," Crowley plowed on. "Imagine someone with all these qualities who also happens to have supernatural powers."

"My God!" breathed Aziraphale, hastily begging forgiveness afterwards. "He could lay waste the entire world!"

"I think that's the idea," said the demon with growing urgency. "But things won't really get cooking until _she_ gets here."

"She?" asked the angel as dawning understanding and horror creased his features. "You can't mean...?"

"That's right," hissed Crowley. "The Mistress of Evil, the Tramp of Tramps, the Dark Queen, etc., etc. She's awakened and she's coming _here!_"

"How can she already know where the boy is?" demanded the angel with growing dread.

"Are you kidding?" growled the demon. "That skank can smell a horny trombone-player in the middle of a brass band marching into the path of stampeding water buffalo. The kid's hormones'll be like a freaking beacon to her."

"Alright so all we need to do is keep them away from each other until we can figure out some way for Adam to resist his carnal impulses."

"Or until he dies," said Crowley candidly. "Whichever comes first."

"So how will we know her when we see her?"

"I'm afraid that's where it gets tricky," said the demon. "No one's seen her in millennia. All I can tell you is that she's _at least _a ten."

Suddenly they became aware of big vacant blue eyes looking at them expectantly with a fixed smile. The realtor had concluded her tour and was now waiting for the verdict of her prospective buyers.

"We'll take it," said Crowley and Aziraphale in unison.

- - -

R. P. Tyler peered over his shrubbery, pretending to prune them with a pair of shears while watching as the pink-jacket-clad realtor skipped away humming to herself over meeting her quota and being allowed to keep said jacket for another month, and he frowned at his new neighbors, obviously a pair who led a deviant lifestyle, and composed a lengthy letter to the Advertiser concerning the degenerating moral fiber of his neighborhood allowing such individuals to take up residence. First co-habitation. Then gay-marriage. Next thing you know, they'll want to vote!

The unpleasant image of hundreds of men clad in Hawaiian shirts and billowing blouses and all kinds of fru-fru attire, marching up and down his street, dancing to boy-band music and rubbing one another down with some sensual oils fluttered unbidden through his mind.

"There would be banana-hammocks everywhere!" he muttered to himself.

What he found even more troubling, though, was the gentleman in the dark glasses. There was something hauntingly familiar about him, though he couldn't quite place it...

A whine from behind jerked Mr. Tyler from his reverie and he found Dog staring amorously at the pants that Mrs. Tyler had hung out to dry.

The deviant couple next-door forgotten he grabbed a rake and chased the little mongrel off the property.

- - -

Achbar Ahmed drove the truck down the deserted Syrian highway. Unbeknownst to most, Achbar was actually the cousin's bother's nephew's sister-in-law's uncle's wife's cousin twice removed of bin Ladin himself. However, it was a fact that the family liked to keep quiet as he was something of a black sheep (4).

In the passenger seat sat the stoic Omar Ali, scanning the landscape for U.S. military blockades. In the back of the truck were two others, Achmed and Achmed, who watched the rear while making sure their latest cargo (5) wasn't jostled around too much.

Achbar allowed his mind to wander. He wasn't interested in his cousin's husband's aunt's brother-in-law's, niece's sister's cousin twice removed's (6) jihad. He'd be practicing dentistry in California by now if it weren't for bin Laden's ill-conceived plan. All 9/11 had accomplished was pissing the U.S. off, and now the fearless leader was hiding in some cave in the desert making more of those idiotic home movies.

Achbar sighed. He was sick of the fucking jihad. He was sick of this fucking desert. And he was especially sick of towing weapons though enemy territory to Iraqi insurgents in this fucking truck.

Suddenly Omar shouted for a halt. Achmed and Achmed peered through the slot between the driver's and passenger's seats and asked what they were stopping for. Achbar could only stare. There in the middle of the road was a strikingly beautiful woman, walking straight toward them. She had luscious raven-black hair, smooth sun-browned skin, and best of all she wasn't wearing a stitch of clothing. As a Muslim semi-extremist, he was offended and angered by the woman's blatant immodesty (7), but as a healthy man in his late-twenties, he silently thanked Allah for this vision of beauty.

She confidently walked up to the driver's side of the truck, seemingly oblivious of her nakedness, placed her hands on her hips and said in perfect Arabic, "I need a ride."

Omar tried to reach for his rifle, but the seatbelt had retracted so he couldn't quite reach it. He began to swear colorfully, denouncing the woman as a harlot and a disgrace to Allah. Unlike his driver, he kept rigid control over his desires. Achbar often wondered if Omar even _had_ a sex-drive.

"Aw," pouted the woman. "Do you really want to do it this way?"

Omar shouted for Achmed and Achmed to restrain her while he continued to reach for his gun. Eager to please - and to get their hands on the delectable specimen before them - the two leapt from the truck and took each of her arms.

"Two big strong men just to keep lil' ol' me in line?" cooed the woman. "Silly! You'll need a whole lot more than that!"

Suddenly her eyes glowed blood red and, without warning she punched through Achmed's stomach and through his spine. He slumped to the ground with a stunned expression on his face. The woman smiled wickedly and slowly, almost seductively licked the blood from her fingertips.

The other Achmed was petrified to the point that she couldn't think to let go of her other arm and run full tilt in the other direction. She took him ion a head lock, bent him backwards, twisting his spine unnaturally and literally stuck his head where the sun don't shine.

He scuttled back and forth in a panic for a moment or two before collapsing.

"Now then," she purred, as her eyes returned to normal and she turned back towards the two in the truck. "About that ride...?"

BLAM!

Omar had been trying to negotiate between his rifle, the safety belt and the terrified Achbar, to get a better shot while Achmed and Achmed were getting killed. At last he managed to take aim and shoot her in the chest right through one of her perfectly jiggly bouncy juicy bosoms.

The woman stood there, stunned, staring at the hole in her chest. Achbar and Omar stared too, sorrow turning to shock for the former, triumph turning to panic in the latter as the hole began to close up, leaving only a white scar.

"You son of a bitch!" the woman snarled, her eyes turning red again. Omar had had enough. He kicked open the passenger door, wriggled free of his seatbelt and made for the dunes, only to find the woman, whom he was now convinced was some kind of djinni, standing there waiting for him.

"My _rack!_" she howled, fangs protruding through her perfect mouth. "You scarred my perfect _rack! _I was _flawless_ before! _Now look at me!_"

Omar turned to run again, but the demon grabbed him and turned him back to face her. Then she jammed her hand down her throat, dug shoulder-deep inside of him and then yanked his... er...man-berries out through his mouth.

He stared at them in horror and disbelief before crumpling to the ground.

The woman, her eyes once again returned to normal and her fangs gone, gave a contented sigh. "I needed that."

Then she turned her attention on the terrified Achbar. He didn't know what to do. He couldn't fight her. He couldn't escape her. All he could do was sit and wait his turn for this death-dealing woman to perform some unspeakable act of torture upon his person.

She casually walked up to the truck seated herself in the passenger seat and clicked the safety belt in place.

"Hey, handsome," she purred softly, sending pleasant chills up Achbar's spine as she musky scent filled his nostrils. "How about giving a lady a lift? I promise I'll make it worth your while."

"Wh..." stuttered the reluctant terrorist. "Where to?"

"England."

"I can take you as far as Turkey," said Achbar ruefully. "We'll never get past the checkpoint though."

"You just drive sweetie," smiled the woman. "And leave the rest to me. By the way, is there a place I can send a message to a friend of mine?"

"Can't you call him on a cell phone or something?"

"I'm afraid I don't have one..." answered the woman with a bemused smile, gesturing at her naked body.

"Oh," said Achbar sheepishly. "A thousand pardons miss! Please use mine!"

"Thanks sweetie," she said taking the phone from him and dialing a specific number to someone who would help both her and her consort take their rightful places as rulers of humanity...

1.) A trick they use from time to time when they're attending to divine or infernal matters that mortals don't need to know about or to avoid the embarrassment that comes with the impaired judgement all those in an advanced state of inebriation.

2.) It was actually made in Hong Kong.

3.) Aziraphale actually had a memorable experience with his first love which you should remind me to tell you about later.

4.) He never wanted to be a terrorist. Ever since he was small he dreamed of being a dentist. He was interested in molars, not mortar. He tried to reach a compromise with his disapproving father by telling him that he could place tiny undetectable detonators into operatives' teeth but his father didn't read enough sci-fi magazines to buy that story.

5.) They thought they were transporting uranium but it was really a cartload of pamphlets for _The Vagina Monologues_. What a silly mixup!

6.) Don't think about it too hard, you'll get a hernia.

7.) She could at least cover her face!

Crowley and Aziraphale: Homeowners! What could be in store for our odd couple? How is Adam coping with the changes in his body? Who is this friend Babs is gonna call, all this and more will be revealed next time! And for those of you who are still waiting for my next Shang-wēifēng update, rest assured, you don't have much longer to wait! 'Til next time, Shibui out!


	4. Chapter 4

**I have returned! Sorry, sorry, sorry for the long wait! Too many other obligations got in the way. Don;t worry I won't bore you with the details. Shout outs to Lori Gray Skies, Ajac, The Fool's Hope, ruff1298, Talon88.1, immovinout, onewhowatches, and Jennistar1. Thanks and apologies to all and to anyone I may have forgotten to include. I sincerely hope that this long-overdue chap begins to make up for it. Read and enjoy!**

_1313 Beverly Hills, Hollywood California_

_5 AM_

He had stood at Cain's side as he murdered his brother.

He had walked alongside the nephilim.

He had escaped the Great Flood and watched the Tower of Babel, man's monument to his own vanity and hubris, crumble to dust.

Through countless millennia, he walked amongst mankind, passing himself off as one of their own, standing at the shoulder of tyrants, gangsters, and a certain cannibalistic hippy, building up kingdoms and tearing down empires and starting all over again through all the ages. He had many names, but in this era he went by the alias Nicholas Scratch.

He was the Kingmaker, the Mouth of Darkness, the Devil's Advocate, and the Herald of the Antichrist...or at least he was _supposed_ to be. He did everything he was instructed to do; he went to wait at the Valley of Magheddo on the appointed day to crown the Antichrist and declare his rulership over all the Earth, thus inciting the Final Battle. But when the kid finally showed up - wouldn't you know it? - it was the _wrong_ kid!

It took a special kind of idiot (1) to mess up something this big. The Battle never took place, despite all the signs being there, the worshipers, confused, angry, and more than a little disappointed, dispersed to the four winds, and the kid who wasn't _the_ kid, went home bewildered and none the wiser.

As for Mr. Scratch, he gave up politics and went into show business. With his powers of persuasion and negotiation skills, honed by centuries of cutthroat manipulation and vicious backstabbing, he swiftly clawed his way to the position of network executive of _Wormwood Studios_, producing a string of hit shows including _Let's Make a Deal...At the Crossroads_, _Devil of a Time, and Days of Our Deaths_.

Soon he made enough profit to buy several other studios and went into the movie business, creating such box office hits as _Prom Date From Hell_, _Damien's Day Out_, _Ernest Goes to Hell _(2), as well as the less than noteworthy _I Was A Demonically Possessed Teenager From Pasadena Vacationing in Venice 8: Don't Eat the Pea Soup_.

Yes, after an unprecedented rise to power in the course of two years, Mr. Scratch had done quite well for himself. He had wealth, prestige (3), and all the creature comforts he ever desired. Yeah, life was good. Who needs the Apocalypse? Screw that overstuffed infernal bureaucrat Beelzebub! Screw Satan and His grand vision for reality! And especially screw the Antichrist!

The _Cross Road Blues_ ring tone on Scratch's cell phone suddenly playing startled the immortal from his slumber along with the super model twins sharing his bed. He persuaded them to go back to sleep as he slipped on his spectacles, a mauve robe, and a pair of bunny slippers and went to answer his phone. He didn't hurry about it or anything. After all whoever it was woke him up at 5 in the f-ing morning! Let them wait! Besides, he was Nicolas goddamned Scratch, the single most powerful man in Hollywood. Whoever it was could afford to be patient.

He looked at the caller ID, but didn't recognize the number. His phone was unlisted so how did they get this number? After a moment of consideration, he flipped open the phone and answered, "You got Nicholas Scratch. Talk to me."

"Is that what you're calling yourself these days?" inquired a sultry, intoxicating and all-too-familiar voice.

"Babs?" asked Scratch.

"The one and only babe," she answered. "I'm surprised to find you surprised. Surely you were expecting me."

"A-actually," answered the immortal. "I wasn't. You see..."

"And where's my grand capitol?" interrupted Babs. Scratch could almost hear her pouting. "When I woke up all I found were a construction crew building an amusement park over the ruins. Wasn't my betrothed supposed to revive Great Babylon in anticipation of my arrival?"

"Babs..."

"And what about my Ten Nation Army?" demanded the Dark Queen. "I was very specific in that I wanted command over Ten Nations. So far all I've found was a gawky towel-headed truck-driver. No offense sweety."

"None taken," answered a male voice (4).

"Anyway," continued Babs. "Instead of a dragon drawn chariot for me to ride triumphantly to the alter of the Dark Lord where His spawn and I would exchange vows of eternal carnal bliss to one another, I find myself bumping along in a rusted old clunker careening toward England of all places."

"England?" asked Scratch, incredulously.

"Yes, England," confirmed Babs. "My senses indicate that my husband to be is on the British Islands...in a place called Tadfield to be precise. What's he doing _there_? And what are so many humans doing walking about? I thought the majority of the population was supposed to have been wiped out by plague or something while the remainder got enslaved. Where is all the suffering and devastation of humanity?"

"Where are you now?"

"We've just crossed the boarder to Greece," answered Babs.

"Then it's about 20,000 miles behind you," finished Scratch sardonically. "Listen Babs, _it_ didn't happen."

"What?"

"The Rapture. The Rise. The Apocalypse. None of it. The Antichrist didn't even show up. The worshipers brought me the wrong kid."

"But that makes no sense!" protested Babs. "Why would I have awakened if the Antichrist didn't conquer the world?"

"I don't know," answered the immortal. "But I think perhaps it'd be better if you went back to sleep."

"Not a chance," said the Dark Queen imperiously. "I've waited and waited and I'm not waiting anymore. Adam Young _will_ be _mine_, and once he is, _I'll kick start him into Armageddon and the world will burn beneath our feet as we glut ourselves on the blood of innocents and devour the hearts of those foolish enough to oppose us..."_

There was a stunned and apprehensive silence before Babs giggled, "Oopsie. Guess I got carried away there for a minute. Sorry Achbar."

"I-it's n-n-no p-p-p-problem," stammered the male voice. "R-r-r-r-really."

"Babs," sighed Scratch calling upon all his persuasive powers. "I _rEaLlY_ tHiNk YoU sHoUlD gO bAcK tO _sLeEp_."

Momentary silence on the other end gave Scratch the fleeting hope that he had succeeded, but it was quickly dashed to bits when the Dark Queen spoke, "Try that again and I swear I'll eviscerate you. Now, here's what's going to happen: I am going to Tadfield, but before I get there, I want you to do some reconnaissance on my destined king. I understand you're a busy man now, but frankly I don't give a crap. Whatever appointments you have, cancel them. From now on Adam Young is your top priority. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes Babs."

"Goodie, goodie gumdrops!" gushed Babs happily. "See you in Tadfield."

Then she hung up and Scratch listened to the dial tone for a few moments before deactivating his phone. Then he went to his closet, selected his wardrobe and stood before his grand fireplace.

He ignited the plaster logs, and muttered an unholy incantation. The flames writhed and expanded and tightened until they formed a portal. Agonized screams and malicious laughter rose from out of the portal and Scratch hesitated. The whole point of becoming immortal was so that Scratch could avoid worrying about the afterlife.

He knew far too many people in both Heaven and Hell who, frankly he was content not to see again (5) and now here he was about to enter into the worse of the two options. But desperate times and all that. His comfy lifestyle was at risk of literally being blown to Hell - or Kingdom Come, depending on who won - and the only person who could help him was in the Pit, so taking a deep breath, Nicholas Scratch, immortal maker and breaker of empires and Hollywood executive stepped through the fireplace and into Hell...

- - -

The Master wandered aimlessly through Tadfield park, a concerned Dog trotting close behind him. His Master hadn't been the same since the night that chubby bald man with the desirable pants dragged him to the Young residence and threatened to write an angry letter or something. Dog didn't know what a letter was but it couldn't have been what was bothering the Master since chubby bald man had made the threat on dozens of occasions - many of which immediately followed Dog's activities in his yard - and never had they affected him to this extent.

For a fleeting moment Dog worried that his Master was doing what he did two years ago when the world almost ended. Despite being a great deal smaller than he was as a hellhound, Dog had grown quite comfortable in this world of cats, cars, lawns, old socks, and especially pant legs and would really prefer it if it wasn't brought to an end.

But then it occurred to Dog that his Master wasn't behaving in the manner that he was on that day. On that day he was mad-crazy with power, now he's just mad-sad with...something. It was an unfamiliar scent emanating from the Master that Dog couldn't quite place. It was kind of like the scent bitches gave off at certain times of the year when it was customary for canines everywhere to sniff one another's backsides, find a suitable bush and &^%!, mixed in with something else.

He heard a pair of noses discharge unwanted dust particles and turned around to see a pair of gentlemen tailing them. One was a blonde man with a gentle countenance, while the other was lean with slicked black hair and a pair of shades.

They saw Dog looking and with exaggerated casualness, hid their faces behind newspapers. Dog wasn't fooled. He didn't know what was bothering his Master but he did know that he would rather be alone at the moment. So bounding toward the two gentlemen, baring his fangs, eyes blazing red, growling as menacingly as he could manage.

"Shit!" said the shade-wearing man crumpling his newspaper and sprinting away. "Run Aziriphale! RUN!"

"Oh, pooh on you Crowley!" scoffed the sweater-vest guy. "He's just a little doggie, aren't you little doggie, doggie, doggie...OW! Wait! Aieeeeeeeeee! GETHIMMEOFFGETHIMOFFME! Don't just stand there Crowley! No! Not _there! _ARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGH! GETHIMOFFMEGETHIMOFFMEGETHIMOFFME!"

Oblivious to Dog's gnashing and tearing and the sweater-vest guy's cries of dismay and the shade man's muttered blessings, the Master made his inevitable way to the old quarry his childhood chums had claimed as their territory, affectionately nicknamed: the Pit.

- - -

To most of Lower Tadfield's citizenry, the Pit was an unremarkable rock quarry and a general eyesore. Several times, one R. P. Tyler had petitioned to City Hall to have it turned into a dumping ground so that at least it would be put to some constructive use, but was denied every time and had to content himself with writing letters to the Advertizer complaining about all the left-wing hippies active in politics nowadays.

To Adam Young and the rest of the Them however, the Pit had special significance, not just because Adam became aware of just who and what he was that almost-fateful day two years prior, but because it was here that they had mapped out their futures, here where they determined the day's activities, here where they plotted their plans of attack against Greasy Johnson and the Johnsonites in their perpetual turf wars.

Everything wondrous and fun that happened to Adam in his sort thirteen years of existence happened here. He was hoping that the sight of it would lift his spirits a bit, but all it managed to do was make him think about Pepper, just like everything else did these days. Thinking about Pepper had never made him feel like this before. It was no different from when he thought about Brian or Wensleydale, but everything changed when they shared that kiss, even after they had agreed that nothing would.

Pepper would return his calls, and when he found her at the Tadfield Mall Food Court, she turned crimson and made an excuse to get away from him before he could even start to speak. Not that he could if he tried. His own face had heated up and the words got stuck in his throat until she was out of sight at which point they came out in a jumbled, "Ithinkweshouldtalk!" Everyone in the food court thought that he was spouting nonsense to the decorative Ficus plant and did their best to ignore him.

For the first time in two years, Adam considered using his powers to erase that kiss from existence. He had decided that after facing the Horsepersons and his father - his real father - the world would be better off if people like himself stopped messing with it and just let life progress in the manner it was intended. And for the past two years he had coped with having all this raw supernatural power in his person by using it as little as possible (6), but now he wanted nothing more than for things with Pepper to go back the way they were before. He wanted his friend back.

Soft guitar music filled the air and a gentle voice began to sing a soothing melody:

_How many roads must a man walk down_

_Before you call him a man?_

Adam looked about himself before he saw a young man sitting on the large rock that was Adam's habitual place whenever the Them had their meeting. The man was dark complexioned with long hair tied into dozens of thin braids, mauve-tinted spectacles, a tie-dye T-Shirt with a white cross on the chest and sandals. He was strumming a battered old guitar with bandaged hands and tapping to the rhythm with his bandaged feet.

_Yes, 'n' how many seas must a white dove sail_

_Before she sleeps in the sand?_

Adam carefully picked his way through the stones and dirt until he reached the quarry floor.

_Yes, 'n' how many times must the cannon balls fly_

_Before they're forever banned?_

Adam then went to stand in front of the guitar-player until he stood in front of him, then waited politely for him to finish his song.

The answer my friend, is blowin' in the wind,

The answer is blowin' in the wind

The man then put aside his guitar, looked at the thirteen-year-old and smiled, "You look like you have a lot on your mind, Adam."

"Hallo Jay," said Adam, returning the smile.

- - -

Hell was not a nice place to be.

The fire and brimstone and even the Michael Bolton music aside, it is very unpleasant. There are things in the furthest corners of the Underworld that there aren't even words for, and the damned have an entire eternity of torment to look forward to. There in lies the problem. Eternity is a _long_ time. Thus it stands to reason that, after centuries of torment, the damned grow a bit numb to their suffering. As initially exciting and terrifying as Hell is, after a thousand years or so, it gets to be, well, dull. At some point, the damned stop caring, and its not nearly as much fun to break someone once they're already broken.

To solve this problem, Dante's Crapper Kareoke Bar was constructed, as a place for the damned to go one every century or two and enjoy themselves so that they could go to their torments fresh. It's here that we find a certain son of Iscariot, strutting his stuff and singing that there was no tomorrow...because, really, there wasn't.

_Go on now go! Walk out the door!_

_Just turn around now!_

Judas began strutting in a manner reminiscent of Mick Jager as he grew more and more impassioned by the sound of Gloria Gaynor's lyrics.

'_Cause you're not welcome anymore_

_Weren't you the one who tried to hurt me with goodbye?_

_You think I'd crumble?_

_You thin I'd lay down and die?_

_Oh no, not I!_

_I will survive!_

_As long as I know how to love I know I'm still alive_

_I've got all my life to live_

_I've got all my love to give_

Judas paused, panting into his microphone, pouring all his bitterness and despair into the final words:

_And I!_

_Will!_

_Survive!_

Cheers and applause resounded throughout the building as the host, a squat rotund little devil came and recovered the microphone from the singer.

"Alright, that was Judas Iscariot, a rising star here at the Crapper, with Gloria Gaynor's _I Will Survive_," he said jovially. "Next we have Bundy, Gacy, Dahmer, and Hansen sing Journey's _Don't Stop Believin'_."

The room applauded once again as the four serial murders walked up on stage and Journey's guitar and piano began to play and Judas made for the exit.

"Leaving already?" inquired a man in a hooded cloak.

"I've got a long day tomorrow," sighed Judas. "I'm on Cerberus Duty (7)."

"Unfortunate," said the hood drily. "But surely you could stay for one drink."

I really don't have time," said the Iscariot once again making for the door, before the hood grabbed his wrist and pulled him towards him, saying, "I'll have to insist!"

Judas peered beneath the cowl and gasped, "You?"

"That's right," grinned Scratch. "I've got a proposition for you Judy baby!"

"_Just a small town girl_," sang Gacy. "_Livin' in a lonely world..._"

1.) A continent and an ocean away, Crowley and Aziraphale gave a collective sneeze and a few miles further, Mary Loquacious, former Sister of the Chattering Order of Saint Beryl and moderate Satanist had the overwhelming urge to point out to _somebody_ that she was merely a _regular_ idiot at best

2.) He had managed to revive Ernest through necromancy and the film was an unmitigated success, though Scratch had to hire the best makeup artists money could buy to disguise the deceased actor's advanced stage of decomposition.

3.) He was named Man of the Century in _Conceited Hollywood Jerkoffs Monthly _and number 3 in the _Top 10 Rich Shmucks Most Likely to Chew You Up And Spit You Out But You'd Sleep With Them Anyway_, right behind Ben Affleck at #2 and Bobby Brown at #1.

4.) For the sake of smoother storytelling Achbar will henceforth be inexplicably able to speak fluent English. Thank you.

5.) It would definitely have been awkward to meet that German fellow again, considering that it was Scratch who had persuaded him to take poison with his girlfriend and then shoot himself. Redundant, yes, but Scratch really detested the guy. After all, even a manipulative immortal bastard like him had standards.

6.) In truth, he had only two occasions to use his powers; once to bend reality so that he had a decent anniversary gift for his parents and one other when he accidently ran over Greasy Johnson's cat and healed its injury. They were sworn enemies, but that didn't mean they had to be barbaric about it.

7.) Imagine picking up the turds of a fifty-foot demonic pit-bull with three sets of foaming gnashing teeth and you'd have a broad idea of what Cerberus duty entails

**Yes it's another cliffhanger, but what did you expect? I'm an incorrigible tease! I'll hopefully have another chap ready for you soon, until then R/R and all that. Till next time! Shibui out!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Shoutouts go to Lori Gray Skies, Ajac, Kalisona, and fledge, as well as many apologies. I also just realized that my Jesus looks has an uncanny resemblance to Bob Marley. Weird. Anyway let's get on to what you're all waiting for.**

"Now let me understand this," said Judas after a moment as Scratch reluctantly downed his Blistered Heiney, spluttering and spewing his discontent as he did so. "You want me to kill the boss's son."

"That's about the size of it," responded Scratch between dry heaves. His lengthy time on the surface and in the modern world had clearly softened him. In the dark ages he ingested blood, intestines and, on one desperate occasion, to which he didn't readily admit, urine. But now he was barely able to suppress his gag reflex. Though to be fair, there was no mixture in the whole of existence, or Los Angeles, more revolting than a Blistered Heiney (1).

"And you would want this... why?" queried Judas. "You're the False Prophet. The antichrist was supposed to be your masterwork."

"Yeah," belched Scratch, tasting vomit. "And the kid blew his chance. His fault, not mine. And now I've made it big without the help of Mr. Big and his squirming little larva. But now with that wench Babs on the prowl, all my enterprises are being threatened. I don't want that and I'm sure with some _convincing_ you won't want that."

"No thank you," said Judas with a tone of finality.

"Why the hell - er heck - not?" protested Scratch.

"It's alright," said passing succubus waitress soothingly. "You can say that down here."

"Two reasons," answered the Iscariot blandly holding up two fingers. "One: I'm stuck in Hell, even if I was willing to put my ass on the line for you I'd never get through the Gates. I'm something of the Great Lord's favorite down here since that affair with You-Know-Who. And two," he continued, shaking the remaining finger for emphasis. "My rates have gone up from thirty pieces of silver. Way up. I doubt you could afford my services."

"You forget who you're talking to," smirked Scratch. "I know every curse, hex, jinx, and no-no word ever created (2). I've studied and taught necromancy from and to (respectively) the masters of the art. Getting you out of Hell will be child's play."

"Whoop-de-do!" coughed Judas, after downing his eighth Blistered Heiney. "But suppose I agree, and you get me out, and I kill the kid, I'll just end up back here anyway. So really, where's my incentive?"

Scratch leaned over the table conspiratorially. "What if I told you I know a guy, who knows a guy, who knows a guy who can get you into Heaven?"

The Iscariot stared at the immortal blankly for a moment before the False Prophet continued, "I can arrange it so that when you die - again - you will be instantly admitted to paradise. There is one catch though."

"And what is that?" asked Judas as blandly as he could manage. He had been in the Pit for so long that he had forgotten what hope felt like. Now the sensation he felt welling up inside him was either that long-lost emotion or all those Blistered Heineys finally catching up to him.

"The only catch is," continued the False Prophet. "Is that you have to die a martyr's death."

"That sounds unpleasant."

"Quite," agreed Scrath. "However, the rewards will be great. Seventy-two virgins for you to enjoy for all eternity."

Judas tried to keep his face impassive, tried to look noncommittal so as not to appear too eager, but Scratch wasn't fooled. Working with politicians, lawyers, and actors for millennia, he knew how to read people, he knew what signs to look for, the little signals through which people give themselves away. He knew what Judas' answer was before he did.

"So do we have a deal?" asked Scratch, giving the Iscariot his best salesman's smile and extending his hand.

Judas hesitated for a moment. But only a moment.

- - -

Adam and Jay sat side-by-side on the big rock in the middle of the quarry as the thirteen-year-old related his story to the long-haired gentleman. Jay nodded at all the right moments and strummed his guitar with his bandaged hands. It always amazed Adam how the man was able to multitask like that. But then Jay was able to amaze Adam since the day they met.

It was not long after that affair with the Horsepersons when Adam and Dog were racing for the safety of the Pit with stolen green apples in tow when they heard music emanating from the old quarry. Their pilfered fruit forgotten both boy and dog went to investigate and there they saw a dark-skinned gentleman, with hair done up into dozens of tiny braids, who dressed in a fashion strikingly similar to Pepper's mother, placidly plucking at his guitar and humming happily to himself.

Dog growled and backed away from the sight and no amount of coaxing on Adam's part could get the shaking and whining mongrel to venture any closer to the strange man. Adam, though he saw no reason to be afraid of the man, was nonetheless cautious and watched the man from a distance.

At last the man stopped his tune and looked up at Adam, smiling invitingly.

"Hello," he greeted.

"Hallo," returned the boy.

"How are you?"

"Fine."

"I notice you have a few apples."

"Yup."

"Mind if I have one. I love apples."

"Alright."

After that they sat together and talked over the apples. Adam found the man who introduced himself only as Jay to be kind, wise, and very funny (3), but his smile always seemed to carry the weight of sadness and Adam wondered why such a nice man was always so sad.

"...and now she won't even talk to me," finished Adam.

"Hmm," answered Jay.

"So what should I do?" asked the thirteen-year-old.

"Well," said the guitar-player. "The way I see it, the two of you have upped the stakes of your relationship."

"But she said the kiss was just..."

"A kiss is _just_ a kiss when you kiss your mother," cut in Jay, frowning gravely. "A kiss is _just_ a kiss when your Aunt Marge comes for a visit and pinches your cheeks and plants a big slobbery wet one on you - by the way you should really call to thank her for the check you received in your most recent birthday card. But a kiss between a boy and a girl - that's never _just_ a kiss. Now neither of you know what to think of the other and you're both scared."

"So what do I do?" Adam asked again.

"Change is never easy," said Jay sagely. "But it is necessary. The two of you have been friends forever. I think you can work past this kiss. When Pepper's ready to talk to you, she'll talk to you, until then, just be there for her until she's ready."

Adam smiled, "Thanks Jay, you're the best."

"Any time Adam," said Jay returning the smile. "By the way, do you know what day it is?"

"Oh no!" cried Adam as horrifying realization dawned upon him. "School starts tomorrow! I gotta go! Sorry Jay!"

With that Adam dashed off in the direction of his home and Jay watched him go smiling sadly.

"No Adam," he sighed. "_I'm_ sorry."

I DON'T HAVE ALL DAY YOU KNOW, said a voice like a shallow grave. The man who called himself Jay turned to see Death standing behind him.

"Sorry," said the guitarist. "I'm ready now."

JUST BECAUSE YOU DEFEATED ME DOESN'T MAKE ME YOUR CHAUFFEUR, said the Grim Reaper indignantly (4).

Jay just shook his head and smiled, watching Adam vanish into the distance.

REGRETS? asked Death.

"I like him," said Jay simply.

_YOU_ LIKE _EVERYONE,_ said the entity in a tone as dry as rotted bones. THAT'S YOUR PROBLEM.

"Perhaps," smiled Jay sadly. "But I can't help myself. I am as my Father made me."

Death regarded him through hollow sockets for a moment or two before saying, ARE YOU READY TO GO OR NOT?

The Son of Man rolled his eyes and followed Death to the House of Waiting. There was work to do...

1.) a vile concoction made from the pus of ganglion cysts, extract of foot fungus and a few other items that are too unpleasant to describe. Despite its obvious unpleasantness, it's the closest thing hell has to an alcoholic beverage so it's quite popular down there.

2.) In part because he was present at their invention.

3.) He still went into stitches whenever he thought of that story Jay told about the time he went golfing with his father and a man named Moses.

4.) The Triumph of Christ over Death has been alluded to in every variation of the Bible to date. But it is only fully chronicled in the Buggre Alle This Bible Matthew 81-90 as follows:

_...and Lo, the Grim Angel of Death did beckon to the Lamb but the Lamb refused to go. Thus did Grim Death, feeling sporting that day did engage Holy Christ in contest. Holy Christ agreed on the condition that he choose the challenge, to which Death agreed. The Christ then did produce a unit of papyrus and fold it over and over until it took on the shape of a triangle. He then instructed Grim Death to hold his thumbs together and his pointers erect to which he obliged. Thus it was that with an almighty flick of the finger, Christ's Holy Paper Football did sail between Death's gaunt fingers smacked him smartly in the forehead._

"_You lose," was the Christ's decree._

The passage is the subject of much theological debate not only because it suggested Jesus had a playful side but also because football - let alone paper football - wasn't introduced into that region until the late twentieth century.

**I'm afraid that's all I have for you right now. Again I'm very sorry for the wait, but between work and my other projects I haven't been able to make much time for this story. I'll try to do better this year. But for now, R/R and Happy Holidays one and all! Shibui out!**


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